You'll Never See My Eyes
by alison107
Summary: This story begins post Spit & Eggs and begins on New Year's Eve. LoVe with some Ensemble as well. A little bit angsty 'cause that's just what I do. Warning: Allusion to a potential spoiler, though not in the way I've heard it plays out on the show.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes: **

This story begins post "Spit & Eggs" and begins on New Year's Eve. It contains an allusion to a mild spoiler, though I doubt it plays out the same way here as it may on the show. It's a LoVe fanfiction with some Ensemble. It is a bit angsty, as I don't know how to write anything that isn't. Not sure why I used the song, though if you don't know it, you should find the lyrics, as the gap in it can help you denote the gaps in time, if you're so inclined.

The underlines represent new sections since doesn't let me section the stories off with my usual methods.

**Disclaimer:**

I don't own any of this stuff. Not the characters. Not the names. Not the song. No lawsuits, please!**  
**

**Part One  
Before Midnight**

Logan watched her from across the room, and he felt like throwing up in his gin and tonic. Instead, he finished it. This could be a metaphor for their whole relationship – this room, these looks, this feeling underneath his skin. She was always just across the room, not looking at him. Mostly.

She looked over once and looked away. Then, she looked back, just long enough to mean something – but not long enough to mean what he wanted it to mean. Not that he expected anything different. She gave him a tight smile, a shrug, and the tiniest bit of a head tilt. Barely acknowledgment.

_So? What is it I want? I broke up with her. _

Not that logic mattered. If logic could cure him, he would have never touched Veronica Mars. Never kissed her. Never fallen in love with her. Never felt this way. He wanted to look away, but he didn't.

"Dude, just, go nail someone who looks kinda like her, only hotter," Dick said, coming up to Logan. "Like that girl over there."

Dick gestured at another gorgeous, tiny, blonde girl who – to Logan – looked nothing like Veronica.

"Great idea, Dick. I'll get right on that."

"Because, seriously, dude: the emo routine? Old news," Dick said. "It's almost a new year. Get over it."

"Yeah. Okay."

Logan walked away to get another drink.

Veronica knew he was watching her, and it was pissing her off. She caught him, and he didn't flinch. She turned away, shaken, but she didn't back down. She shot him a wide-eyed look, tilting her head, as if to say, "What the hell?" but she just got the same blank, unflinching stare. So, she turned back towards Mac and Piz.

He didn't look away even when she turned around. She could see his reflection in the window, his eyes blurring, but obviously unmoving, but she could also _feel_ it, coursing through her skin, burning her eyelashes and fingertips. She wanted to turn around and throw something at him.

_What does he think he's doing? He broke up with me. _

Not that she would actually say anything. If it were anybody else, she'd call him on his bullshit. But not Logan Echolls. She'd never get anywhere. Never find answers. Never understand.

"You want to go?" Mac asked. "You look like you want to go."

She shook her head. Veronica wanted to say yes, and it should have been so easy. It's not like she didn't have a thousand reasons – besides Logan Echolls – to leave one of these parties. But if she said yes at that moment, it would have felt like defeat.

She looked around at Mac and Piz, who'd been trailing them all night. "I just need something to drink. Anyone else want anything?"

"Uh – " Piz held up a beer already in his hand. "I'm good." He looked like he was going to say something else, but he didn't.

"Here?" Mac asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Don't worry. I still have coasters." Veronica said, pulling one out of her jacket.

Mac shook her head. "Thanks anyway."

Veronica walked away, towards bar.

He was standing at the bar with a full drink when she approached. He downed it while she ordered hers, still looking at her, four feet away – not speaking.

She wasn't going to break the silence. She had come up to order a beer – enough to dull the very edges, but not enough to make a dent – but instead she ordered a screwdriver. A double. She drank half of it on the way back and willed him to stay at the bar.

If he didn't want to be with her, he could at least stay away.

He watched her order the drink and test it with the coaster. Not many girls at the party still had coasters. It was as if the rapes were old news, gone. Nothing was ever gone for Veronica. Rightly so, he guessed. Vigilance thy name is Mars.

He ordered his third drink in as many minutes and followed her.

This was crazy. He was stalking his ex – who _he_ broke up with – at a party, watching her talk with Mac and Piz. That idiot looked as though he wanted to make a move, and Logan didn't know what he'd do if he did. He tried to imagine Veronica dancing with Piz. Or kissing him. Or –

_Fuck. Why am I doing this?_

And what did he mean by _this?_

He followed her again, as she walked outside. He wished someone would just hit him. Knock him out. Make him stop. He got drunker as he looked at her, watching her hands move. Was she getting more emphatic as she got drunker, or was everything just more animated, blurring in his gin-soaked eyes.

A guy from his sociology class came up with his girlfriend. She was pretty. It was a guy he liked. Went surfing with a few times. Studied with once. The two of them talked to him, but he didn't really listen. He must not have said enough back, because they walked away within fifteen minutes.

She was surrounded by people, looking effortless. Friends. His friends were all off trying to pick someone up. This was like the anti-Neptune High. Not that he minded being alone. He used to have to try. Now, it came easy. It was strange to see her so encircled, though. So bright.

Veronica drank her drink in periodic gulps. It tasted horrible, and it was barely orange. It was mostly warm vodka – probably three or four shots worth. She watched Piz and Mac talk, as though she was listening. Something about a band.

Wallace came over once and told them about the girl he'd picked up. He was leaving early, and he asked Piz to stay out late. Good for him. Veronica couldn't even manage a good sex joke at his expense, so she just said "Happy New Year."

"You okay?" Wallace asked before he left. "You want me to go kick his ass before I go?" He quipped.

Veronica smiled. "Nah. Go get some ass while the getting's good. I've got my stun gun if I really want some violence."

"That's the Veronica I know," He said with a smile. "See you in 2007." He looked at Mac and Piz. "Catch you guys later. Much later," he said, looking at Piz.

"I'll stay out till two at least, I promise," Piz said, shrugging. "But you owe me the same."

Wallace raised an eyebrow, as if at the very idea of it. "Yeah. Sure. You let me know when you want to collect that. I'm not holding my breath."

Mac laughed, and Piz shot her a look.

"Hey!"

Veronica had mostly stopped listening to them, and the next few minutes passed like an old silent film, just frames in slow motion, moving choppy through the night.

"I can't believe it," she said, annoyed. She might have interrupted them because Mac looked at her, surprised. And Piz looked down at the floor. He did that a lot.

"What does he think he's doing?" Veronica finally said to Mac, as the vodka started to hit her stomach. She hadn't eaten since three, and a double was easily enough to soften the room, make her brave. Or stupid.

"He's staring at you. Just ignore him," Mac said.

They walked outside, and she tried. But there he was again, to her right, staring at her. It felt like a challenge, but she didn't know what the challenge was. To speak first? To not speak? Were they playing Chicken or War?

He wasn't alone anymore. He was talking to some girl in a skirt that barely covered her ass and a top that was practically falling off, but he wasn't looking at her. He kept looking over.

"It's almost midnight. We really don't have to stay. We could go back to my room and watch the ball drop on TV if you want," Mac tried again. "Parker's having her thing there. Piz can fend for himself, can't you?"

"I – Well – I could, I guess, if you really need to – or, maybe… "

"No." Veronica shook her head. "I don't want to go." She didn't know what the game was, but she knew leaving was losing. And Logan didn't get to win. She couldn't stop him from hurting her, but he didn't get to win.

A girl came up to him. She was blond and thin, like one of the girls Dick advised him to 'nail' earlier. Her name was Stacey, or something that rhymed with it. She brought him another drink. A gin and tonic with Van Gogh gin, and he knew Dick had sent her over.

He couldn't imagine how much he'd annoyed Dick this past month to get to the point where he was sending over slutty blondes he'd normally be happy to keep to himself. Or maybe there was just a surplus of slutty blonde girls at the party.

She kept talking to him even though he couldn't make much conversation back. His words tasted like gin. She kept standing next to him, even though he wasn't even looking at her. He looked towards her once or twice, but he continued to hold his gaze on Veronica.

Eventually, he just stopped answering, and she walked away.

It was almost midnight when she couldn't stand it anymore. She walked across the room towards him, inhaling as if preparing for a bar fight. In a way she was.

"What is it that you want?"

"What?" He must have seen her coming, but it still caught him off guard.

"You've been staring at me for two hours."

"I haven't," He lied. "Have I?"

"Logan," she said.

"What?"

"Tell me the game. What is it? Let me in on the joke. Please. What is it? What is it that you could possibly want?"

"I'm just standing here."

"Okay. Forget it." She started to walk away.

"Wait," he said.

"Yeah?" She turned around, her eyes flaring. Something loosened in her stomach, as though she somehow felt – hoped – he was going to say something real. Something important.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come."

"Me neither."

She walked away from him, feeling free. If it was Chicken, she'd won. If it was War, she guessed it didn't matter.

_Fine. He wants to stare at me. Fine. Let him. Let him stare and mumble and shuffle his feet. Let him do what he wants. And he says I hold back. He says I shut _him_ out? Fine. I'm done. _

And she almost believed it. She was walking towards Mac and Piz when it turned midnight. Mac kissed Piz playfully on the cheek, and they both hugged her as she approached.

None of them meant their "Happy New Years" as animated as they said them. Especially not Veronica. But she smiled a smile that looked real enough. It almost felt real. And she liked the song that was playing. She hadn't heard it in years.

_And I can do the frug  
I can do the Robocop  
I can do the Freddie  
I cannot do the Smurf_

"I like this song," she said, nodding her head towards the dance floor. "I'm gonna dance."

"You are?" Mac asked.

"And so are you," she grabbed Mac's hand and Piz's and pulled them out onto the dance floor, willing there to be some sort of fun at this New Year's Eve party. Willing his eyes away.

_And I can hate your girl  
I can tell you that she's real pretty  
I can take my clothes off_  
_I cannot fall in love_

_And I can do the frug  
I can do the Robocop  
I can do the Freddie  
I cannot do the Smurf_

They danced for another half an hour, and she almost forgot he was watching her.

Mac looked exhausted by one o'clock. "You ready?" She asked Veronica.

She looked back at Logan for the first time in awhile. He was talking with another girl. She couldn't see the girl's face, but he was still looking towards her. She met his gaze, and he looked away. She sighed.

"Let's go." Veronica nodded even though she almost didn't want to leave. For real, this time. That's how she knew it was time to go.

He felt like his stomach slammed against his shoes. He shuffled his feet and turned forty-five degrees, but he didn't stop looking at her. He couldn't breathe.

_Of course, she starts with accusations. How else would Veronica Mars start a conversation. Not with what _she _wants to say. What the hell gives her the right? Fine. She is who she is. She'll never change. _

He heard the New Year's cheer as though it happened somewhere else. The music started again. She pulled Mac and Piz onto the dance floor. Smiling now. He had to work to find her in the crowd.

_And I can do the frug  
I can do the Robocop  
I can do the Freddie  
I cannot do the Smurf_

_And I can hate your girl  
I can tell you that she's real pretty  
I can take my clothes off  
I cannot fall in love  
You'll never see my eyes  
I will not call you back  
I cannot do the smurf  
I cannot fall in love  
I'll never fall in love  
I cannot fall in love..._

_And I can do the frug  
I can do the Robocop  
I can do the Freddie  
I cannot do the Smurf_

She was dancing badly. She never could dance. He wanted to be holding her. She looked beautiful.

He held that thought for maybe half an hour, the drink evaporating in his hands. This was too pathetic. He set the empty cup down. Five was enough. Or was it six? He turned to a girl a few feet away, but he couldn't really start a conversation. He was still watching Veronica, but not all-out now. He glanced away and tried to make a conversation.

The girl's friend turned around, and he realized it was Madison Sinclair. At least this would be easy. And he was drunk enough.

"Wow. Small world," she said, smiling at him. She started talking, and it was easy. His responses fit easily into the beats, exactly as they should. No thinking necessary. His eyes still had enough energy to follow Veronica across the room to the dance floor.

She stopped dancing and looked over at him. He felt like his eyelashes were on fire or something. For the first time, he looked away. All the way away. No corners of his eyes, no searching for reflections. Away.

He felt her leave. He didn't have to see it.

"You ready to go?" He asked Madison. He didn't know what he was doing or why.

But she smiled. "Yeah. Where to?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes: **

Here's Part 2. One chapter left to go. Again, the song is not neccesarily in order (in different scenes) and is used to denote time, as the gap in it can help you denote the gaps in time, if you're so inclined. Even more crazy POV shifts! Very important to note that the underline means a POV shift or you WILL get confused. At least once.

The underlines still represent new sections since doesn't let me section the stories off with my usual methods.

**Disclaimer:**

I don't own any of this stuff. Not the characters. Not the names. Not the song. No lawsuits, please!

**Part Two  
After the Party**

Veronica stared at the ceiling of Mac and Parker's dorm room. She wasn't sure if she was trying to sleep or sober up. She was almost sober, that spinning, sad feeling of coming out of it, so she decided on the latter. Suddenly, she wanted out. She sat up and laid back down two or three times before she finally stood up, unable to stand feeling trapped any longer.

She practically jumped off the couch, and her foot landed in the crook of Piz's arm. He was crumpled on the floor of Mac and Parker's dorm, still avoiding his room, she guessed. Wallace was lucky he'd gotten such an understanding roommate. She tried to extricate herself, but she wasn't as sober as she thought and she got easily caught in his limbs, stumbling as though he were an obstacle course. And waking him up.

"What the – ?" He said. "Oh. Hey, Veronica."

She had jumped away by then, and he sat up.

"What's going on? You going somewhere?" He was quickly awake.

"I wanted to." She felt like he was talking fast or she was hearing slow. No, she was definitely not as sober as she hoped she was. So much for driving. "But I don't know if I should drive."

"Then you probably shouldn't."

"I guess I'll just go for a walk."

"Yeah?"

"I've got to get out of here. It feels like the ceiling's coming down," she said. "And I'm starving."

He nodded. "Okay. Want some company? Pizza sounds good."

Veronica liked the way he said it, as though he was asking permission. No questions. No judging her. No protecting her. No "It's not safe at 3 AM" looks. Just light and breezy.

"Yeah. Pizza would be good."

"I know a place that's still open. Till 4," He said.

He went straight to the bar as soon as they got to his room. He needed more gin. A lot more. He needed to stop figuring out what the hell he was doing and just do it. This would be effortless, meaningless – clean, quick, just to get the feeling of Veronica off of him. It had to be someone. She'd be gone in three days. It might as well be her. It might as well be tonight.

Madison followed him to the bar and poured her own drink. She had stopped talking, as if she knew. As if she was making it easier. She kissed him.

They'd kissed before. They'd even slept together once. He barely remembered it – just sex on his father's boat in the middle of a party. Before she was with Dick. When he was broken up with Lily, and she was chasing after some college guy. They'd never talked about that, and they'd never have to talk about this.

Not that it would be much more work to pick up someone new. A little messy, but he could have done it. Who was he kidding? This was about Veronica.

He saw Madison smile coldly as he started to take her shirt off, and he wondered who she was thinking about. Who was her revenge on? Him? Dick? Veronica? Someone new? The world? He didn't care, but it gave him something to think about as he went through the motions with her skin.

Her skin was smooth but not soft. Nothing about her was soft or welcoming, and he was glad. This wasn't about feeling good. It was about forgetting. Veronica was still the last girl his hands had really touched. Still the last his lips tasted. Still the last he'd felt. He knew he couldn't erase his feelings, but he could try to cover over the memory with this. This was rough and sad and wrong, and that was exactly what he wanted.

He knew he couldn't make it go away. He just wanted to feel a little less.

He wanted to kiss her, but he knew better. He knew he didn't really have a shot, no matter how many pieces that guy Logan left her heart in. He had a type, she had a type, and he wasn't going to be hers. And that had to be okay with him.

Wallace and Mac thought he was delusional or something. They thought he believed he had a chance with Veronica, and Piz never bothered to correct them. It didn't matter. Yeah, he liked Veronica Mars. Who wouldn't?

She wouldn't let him buy her pizza. She ordered one with mushrooms and pepperoni. She got cheese stuck in the right-hand corner of her mouth. He pointed it out, and she looked down, embarrassed. But then she looked back up, and she didn't look away.

She looked around. She seemed to be doing better. "I'm going to have to come back here. This place is handy."

"I come here all the time."

"I could tell. The guy at the counter knew your name. That might mean," she started in a teasing tone, "you come here too often. A lot of 3 AM pizza runs?"

"Wallace drives me out a lot. This is not an isolated incident."

"Really? Wallace is a stud?" Veronica said, laughing. "And I always thought it was just in his own mind. Hmm."

"I think I actually slept here once. I was that desperate."

She laughed. He smiled. She still didn't look away. She looked happy. Happier, at least.

He looked down at his feet and reminded himself that he had no shot.

_None. No shot. Not even a basket to shoot into. Not even a target to hit. Nothing. _

And then she stood up, still smiling, and he knew he was in trouble.

She didn't care that he wasn't there with her. She caught his guilty looks, and it made her want to laugh – or maybe throw up. She'd do both later, in her own room, her hand down the back of her throat, bringing out the rest of her cosmopolitans, two hundred calories worthy of cranberry juice coursing out of her system.

She liked control. She didn't bother finding the way to the bedroom. Their feet were drunk, but the rest of their bodies knew how to go through the motions. The couch would be fine.

She was still drunk when she left. It didn't take that long. She wanted to tell him he was pathetic, but what did that make her? It didn't really matter. He looked at her like he wanted to say something, share somehow, but they both knew that wasn't part of this. She didn't care what he thought, or what anyone thought. Not anymore.

"I can't believe you stayed in Neptune, Logan," She said, as she left. "What's the point?"

Madison didn't wait for an answer. She didn't really care.

She had really wanted to go for a ride, with the windows down and no one on the road – to just drive into the darkness. Piz had only had two beers, both well before midnight, and he was fine to drive even if she wasn't. And he always did what she asked.

She'd asked nicely. Nicer than usual. It was easy to be nice when she knew she'd get her way, when everything didn't feel like a struggle.

"You probably wish we'd taken your car," he said. "Mine kind of sucks."

"No, I like it. It's got charm. A joie de vivre, so to speak," Veronica said, mostly out the window, but she looked at him and tossed a smile.

"Thanks."

The campus radio station was playing, but really quiet.

"Can I turn this up? Do you mind? I want the music so loud, the air starts to thin out a little. Or something."

He laughed. "Well, I don't know if that actually works. But give it a try."

She smiled and turned it all the way to the right. She looked out the window again and her smile faded as they passed by the high school. Neptune. So much for driving in the darkness.

_Turn into  
The only thing I ever--  
Turn into_

She wanted to closer her eyes, wanted to be free – just once. But, as she'd told him, as she tried to tell everyone, she was who she was. And the air didn't thin out for her. Her heart didn't get put back together. The pieces would always be in her throat.

_  
Hope I do  
Turn into you_

_I know, what I know, I know  
That girl you found  
Keeps that kind of window closed_

Logan was relieved when she left. He stretched his limbs out and tried to find his clothes. He hadn't gotten up, spoken, or looked at her. He certainly wasn't going to answer her question. What had kept him in Neptune? All the good memories?

_It was her. Of course. I would have gone anywhere._

But she stayed there. He wondered sometimes if somewhere else, she could let him in. There was something wrong with this town – that was what she always seemed to think – and maybe it was what was wrong with her. Them. Him.

He wanted to shower. He felt exactly as dirty and rough as he'd wanted, and he kept it on him as he turned the radio on and rested his head on his knees.

_I know, what I know, I know  
That girl you found  
Keeps that kind of window closed  
She'll turn into  
The only thing you ever--  
turn into  
Hope I do  
Turn into you_

_Can't say why I kept this from you  
My those quiet eyes become you  
Leave it where it can't remind us_

Logan heard his phone ringing on the table. He picked it up. Just a text message.

_  
Turn this all around behind us  
Oh! Well I know!_

Piz watched as she turned the radio down again._  
_

_The only thing you ever--  
turn into_

Apparently, loud hadn't done what it was supposed to. He didn't ask any questions. He just looked over and made a goofy face. "Definitely thinner now."

"Yeah."

He watched as she started to formulate her question. He didn't know what she'd ask, but he knew who she was thinking about. Even if she didn't. He wasn't stupid. It wasn't him.

"Sometimes I wonder – if I'd gone away from here," she said softly. "You ever wonder?"

"I did go away, remember? I'm not from here."

"I mean anything. Things that – things like that."

"Sure. I wonder all the time."

_About you. But I'll never know. And you're not leaving. _

"Yeah. Me, too."

_Hope I do  
Turn into you_

_Can't say why I kept this from you_

He watched her type in a text message. He knew who it was to.

_My those quiet eyes become you  
Leave it where it can't remind us_  
_Turn this all around behind us  
Oh! Well I know!  
I'll fall right in to keep you out  
I'd like to tell you all about it_

It took him a minute to work up the nerve to open her message. He half-expected an all-caps rant and rave about how and when he was allowed to look at her. It wasn't that at all.

_I know, what I know, I know  
This last time around  
I'll hear it in my head real low  
Turn into  
The only thing you ever know_

_I know, what I know, I know  
Ah yes._

He looked at the text for almost twenty minutes. It might have been the nicest thing she'd ever said to him. It was so damn simple:

"I was a bitch. I should have just said, 'hi' and 'happy new year.' I don't know why I am this way. I'm sorry. Truly. Not just for tonight."

He wanted to write her back, but his fingers didn't make sense of the keys. He wanted to say something that meant something, and nothing seemed to mean what he wanted it to. He wanted to take it all back – everything – if only he knew she'd let him in.

If only she'd change a little. Just around the edges. Not the way he'd changed for her – not so much. She didn't need to, and he'd never ask her to. He'd never wanted that. He just wanted her to make a space. For him.

Veronica inhaled the thick air as she saw her car approaching. Piz parked right next to her car, and she smiled at him. She was tired.

"Thanks for the drop-off. And the ride. And the pizza. All of it." She sat there for a minute, and then looked back at him. "You heading home?"

He nodded. "It's almost five. Hope the coast is clear."

"Good luck," she said, stepping out of the car.

"You, too." He said it like he knew something even though he couldn't have.

Because if he knew then, he would have known before she did, before she realized that she wasn't driving home. That she hadn't been waiting to sober up so that she could get home. She'd been waiting to get to him.

She didn't know it until he spoke, and she wasn't sure she could do it until she heard her phone. She smiled – the first real smile all night – and hugged Piz goodbye. She knew where she was going now.

"Thanks, Piz."

He knew exactly what she meant. And it broke his heart, but he smiled anyway. "You're welcome."


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Reply: **

Thanks for all the feedback thus far. It's greatly appreciated.

By the by, meimei42, I'm glad you liked my drunkVeronica, but we actually have seen Veronica drunk in canon. She was drunk (accidentally, she says, but she ordered subsequent ones) off of Irish Coffees --- Baileys got the girl drunk, and that is sad, so that's why I felt justified in getting her pretty well plastered and feeling it for hours later off of 3-4 shots of vodka --- in WW, the first episode of the season where Parker woke up screaming after the rape. That's why she was still at Mac's dorm. Too drunk to drive home. But anyway…

**Author's Notes: **

Here's Part 3, the last chapter. I'm not sure if it's what I wanted it to be, but it is what it is. (And that's kind of the theme, ironically, so I decided to just go with it, since it hasn't altered in my head throughout the 24 hours I've pondered re-writing it.) The underlines still represent new sections since doesn't let me section the stories off with my usual methods, but the POVs are more straightforward here anyway.

So, this is where it ends. I actually wrote it before the episode on Tuesday, but it took me a few days to post it. I needed to mull a bit. Let me know what ya think.

**Disclaimer:**

I don't own any of this stuff. Not the characters. Not the names. No lawsuits, please!

The songs from the last two chapters were "The Frug" by Rilo Kiley, and "Turn Into" by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, if you didn't know already. Sorry for not listing titles earlier.

**Part Three:  
At the Hotel**

Logan typed thousands of messages in his mind – everything he'd ever left unsaid, every contradicting thought, every gaping wound tumbling into syllables he couldn't punch in quickly enough. He put the phone down. He was breathing too fast, his heart beating hard enough to evaporate his thoughts, gin and tonic fizzing into the air, leaving him buried underneath the alcohol and sweat, too useless now to mean the right letters.

He picked it back up. The words didn't sound like anything, but they were all he had left in him. It certainly wasn't what he wanted. He wanted to mean _something_. He wanted to tell her it was okay. Truly. Not just for tonight.

He wanted to ask her if she really minded him watching. If she missed him. If she could just give in a little. Just one step. To tell her that he'd walk ten miles to see her take one step for him. And to shake her because she hadn't. He wanted to ask her if she meant it. If she would have done it differently. If she even could. And to say she didn't have to, to say he understood.

He knew the words. He could feel them. He just couldn't bear to touch them, think them, let them out. He knew he couldn't possibly deserve them. He'd made her right about him, and he was sorry. He always knew he would be, but that's why he'd done it. Control. The pain and the shame were his again, the self-loathing replacing her anger, smothering him. She couldn't touch him now. He could keep her out.

He sent the message. And threw his phone against the wall.

He headed towards the shower.

Veronica didn't pick up her phone to read the message until she got to the Neptune Grand. She just knew he'd written back. She just knew there was hope in the way he'd watched her. It was a strange feeling. She wasn't a girl who hoped very often, who could feel that kind of scary faith in some potential joy, lurking behind the corner. Good things didn't lurk behind too many corners. Not in Neptune.

She didn't read it in the parking lot. She didn't read it in the lobby. She didn't even pull out her phone when she was on the elevator. She made it all the way to his floor, and she had to know. She had to know before she knocked, if it was what she thought.

It wasn't.

She almost cried when she read it. Whatever was open a few hours ago, whatever encouragement she could have found in his stare, whatever her apologies and gestures could have done – and she would never really know, but she thought they could have done something – she didn't think they could matter right now. It was just a feeling she had.

She knew how to read between the lines. It was what she did. Not that she didn't get it wrong a thousand times, miss too many clues, fall a step behind, but generally, she knew how to fill in the gaps. And his were screaming, _Don't try. I can't do this. _

Six tiny words. He could have just said them. He must have known she'd get it. Maybe he wanted her to have to sift through them herself, so it would hurt more. No, he didn't mean to hurt her. She didn't think he meant to hurt her. He didn't mean anything – didn't want to give her anything.

Five, hollow words:

"Happy New Year. It's fine."

_Fine. Sure. A fine night. A fine life. Everything's fine._

She was drowning in fine, and she didn't know where to go. At least he couldn't see her.

She didn't expect to see her there, of all people, hunched over and crying in front of his door, but it started to make perfect sense. Madison felt a smile creeping against her teeth. She knew she was a piece of shit for thinking what she thought, wanting what she wanted. What she always wanted. The jugular. The blood. The guts. It wasn't rational to hate this much. Not when high school was supposed to be gone.

At least she knew what she wanted and what she was. That's how she got so good at it. Causing pain. She laughed out loud. Even she couldn't tell whether it was fake or real.

"No. This is just too pathetic. Even for you."

_This is just too good. _

Veronica looked up, but she didn't say anything. She looked humiliated, and Madison suddenly felt giddy, something beyond drunk, beyond orgasm. This was easily the best part of her night.

"Want to knock? See if he's taking in strays? I can do it for you," She offered, hand held up to the door in mocking pantomime. "I have to get my jacket anyway. He was certainly interested in _having company_ earlier."

Veronica didn't have time to move. Or even answer.

Logan opened the door.

"What's going on?"

He knew she was there long before Madison got off the elevator. He could hear her crying. He could feel her leaning against the door. Yesterday, he would have let her in. He wouldn't even have waited for her to knock.

It was hard, hearing her cry and not holding her. It made him angry. He wanted to shout at her to go away. It was bullshit. She could at least admit it. She could at least knock on the fucking door. Who did she think she was fooling? Did she want him to hear her? What the hell was she doing? What gave her the fucking right?

He heard Madison's first question. At least it stopped the crying. Maybe she'd go away. Run into the elevator. Finally decide something.

She didn't leave. He didn't even hear her get up. He almost wanted to hear her quip back, but she didn't. By the time Madison spoke again, he'd already crossed the room.

He heard her words and cringed. He wanted to hit her. Or himself. He didn't have any idea what he was going to do when he opened the door.

She didn't know what to feel when he opened the door. Relieved, scared, happy, angry, sad – Everything came out as a jumbled mess these days. This mess was her fault. She'd caused this. She didn't deserve any better.

_What was I thinking? His hallway? Crying? _

Of course, she hadn't been thinking. Thinking would have been never getting her hopes up. Thinking would have been encouraging someone like Piz, someone who wouldn't hurt her, who couldn't make her feel so much. Thinking would have been staying in the car. Checking her phone. Driving home to her bed and Back-Up at her feet and bacon on New Year's Day, burnt by her father at exactly eight AM. Or sleeping in on Mac's couch and pancakes in the morning with her and Parker. Thinking did not get her to the penthouse at the Neptune Grand.

He had every right to yell at her. Call her crazy. Tell her to go away. Instead, he tried to help her up.

She stood up, but pulled away from his hands.

"Don't." It was all she could manage.

She knew she should leave, but she couldn't move. Her heart was beating in her eardrums even though it was clearly laying in pieces all over the hallway carpet, disintegrating into nothing underneath Madison's black high heels.

"Aw. A lover's spat. How precious," Madison said. "No wonder he wasn't much use tonight." She turned to Logan. "I just need my jacket."

"Sure. You'll find it on the sidewalk out front in about five minutes."

"Wow," Madison said, nodding her head with a wide smile that practically screamed _Mission: Accomplished_. "That is really immature."

She couldn't believe she was still standing there, watching them. Was she breathing? She wanted to stop breathing. She wanted her feet to move. To be her own again. But she couldn't push away his hand on her arm no matter how disgusted she felt. She couldn't stop her traitorous feet for following his lead, into the suite.

He didn't know what he could say. He just knew he had to get out of that hallway. He pulled her in, and she stood there, still not speaking. She pulled away from him, violently, but she didn't leave. She walked towards the couch, but she stopped, seeing the jacket and the two glasses. And the Trojan wrapper on the coffee table.

_Shit. _

What was he thinking? The hallway was better than this.

She ran away, towards the bathroom. He kept his promise with Madison's jacket, throwing it off the balcony, watching it sail downward, leather hitting the pavement with a distinct _thwap_ as he heard Veronica gasping and retching.

He understood. He wanted to throw up, too. What could he tell her? That it was kind of the point. That he'd wanted to be disgusting. To feel like shit. To get as low as he could manage. So low he'd never be able to touch her again. And that, yes, he'd wanted to something that would hurt her. As much as she could stand.

Not that he had ever meant for her to find out. No, there were no words for the kind of asshole he was here, but he hadn't wanted that.

He heard the toilet flush, and he heard her turn the water on. And then she shut the door. He heard the lock turn, and he got mad all over again. She was hiding in _his_ bathroom? His goddamn bathroom ? Who the hell did she think she was, barging into his suite at 5 AM and judging him, and making him feel like the piece of shit he was? What kind of person does that? Only Veronica Mars would have the fucking nerve.

She hadn't fully believed it, even though it was obviously true. Not until she saw the proof in the sick, twisted tableau that was his living room. Suddenly, pizza and half-digested vodka were in her throat again, burning her teeth. She almost threw up there. She should have thrown up on the fucking couch where he'd –

_Fuck._

Not that she had the right to be this mad. She felt her insides falling out of her, tears she didn't know she had left mixing with the mushrooms and cheese. She felt drunk again, but in a bad way this time. She should have known better than to show up at his doorstep at this time of night. She should have known he wouldn't wait around for her, pining. She should have known he meant it when he said it was over.

Not that she could have ever imagined this. Why did it have to be Madison? She flushed the toilet. Did she really care who it was? Did it make the scene playing in her head that much worse? Wouldn't it be bad enough anyway? And who was she to judge?

She tried to catch her breath.

She washed her face and looked at herself in the mirror. She felt more trapped than ever, caged by the gleaming tile. It looked so damn clean. She could hear him outside the bathroom, cleaning up, pacing, his feet as heavy as her skin felt. She locked the door. She couldn't go out there. She knew she needed to leave. She knew she should run. Out of the room, the suite, the hotel. But that meant facing him.

She spread out on the cold tile, too raw for crying.

He finished cleaning up the glasses, and he brought her stuff inside. He wanted to do something besides pacing, but there was nothing else to do. He was shaking as he sat down on the floor, leaning against the bathroom door. He thought about knocking or yelling at her and throwing her out. He thought about breaking the thing down. What the hell was she doing in there? He couldn't even hear her moving anymore. Was she planning on sleeping in there?

Why couldn't she have said something earlier? Why couldn't she have knocked on the fucking door? Why couldn't she have sent that message a few hours earlier?

They were all stupid questions that didn't really amount to anything worth answering. It was the same old story. What could they change? This was his fault. He'd made this. He didn't deserve any better.

He wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry.

This was ridiculous. If someone had told him three hours ago that Veronica would be locked in his bathroom, he would have laughed. It felt like a dream. A fucking nightmare.

She could feel him leaning against the door somehow, and she crawled towards it, disgusted with herself. Disgusted with him. Disgusted with the tile. With this whole night. How the hell was she going to get out of the suite if he stayed right there, right at the door?

She wanted to tell him to move. She wanted to teleport out of the room. Or maybe just evaporate somehow.

He knew he should hide in his room, but he also knew it meant she'd leave. He knew that's what she was waiting for, and he didn't know why he didn't just go. Just let her go. She should leave. What was there left to say here? Was he going to think of something, sitting there, that would make it better?

He didn't know if he had the right to make her face him. He knew she shouldn't have found out, and certainly not like this. He knew there was nothing he could say.

"Veronica?" He said, standing, still touching the door.

He thought he heard her hold her breath. He imagined he felt her hands against the door, too, looking for something than just the way out. He pretended there was something he could say.

"Veronica?" He tried again.

He wished he hadn't. She opened the door.

She heard him stand. She felt his hands against the door, somehow, and tried to find the same spot. She couldn't breathe when she heard her name, couldn't speak, couldn't yell or ask him why. He didn't let it go.

"Veronica?"

She opened the door and put on her brave face. "I'm sorry. I'm going. I was just sick. I just had a little too much to drink, that's all."

"Then you shouldn't drive."

"I'm fine." She tried to push past him, but she felt his hand on her shoulder again. Willing her to stay. Giving her exactly what she'd come for, if only she could forget. And forgive.

Part of her wanted to melt into him, to let him pull her in and try to make it better, and part of her wanted to slug him, throw something at him, spit on him for touching her with the same hands he must have –

_No. This is something you don't think, Veronica. _

She pulled away.

"I'm sorry."

"What's the point?" She asked, turning around to face him, the words ripping through her, finally making her angry enough – finally piercing the sadness and the disgust. "We weren't together."

"Veronica – "

"No. This was perfect. Thank you. Except," Her eyes betrayed her even as she spoke, and she knew it, "you could have just sent this in your text message. No need for 'fine' at all. You could have just laid it out there, the big 'Fuck You.' You could have done that. It would have been vintage Logan Echolls. Classic."

If there were words to answer her question, he couldn't find them. He could only find her name.

"Veronica." He felt it like a prayer. Or like he imagined a prayer felt, humming through his skin, his teeth, his fingertips. No matter what he'd done to get her off of him, he could feel her again.

_Fuck_.

It had all been for nothing anyway.

Her words hit him like glass, breaking, broken, tearing through his skin, but her eyes were wide and scared. It was the first time he really believed it, even though he'd heard her say it before. It just hit him, with the words that were wrong and true at the same time: She loved him.

She loved him, and he had to fix this, even if it was impossible.

She didn't understand when his face changed. She'd wanted to hurt him, like he'd hurt her. Not that words could do that kind of damage, but she'd wanted to hurt him as much as she could. But it wasn't hurt. Or fear. Or anger. Or love or hate. It was something else in his eyes, something she couldn't read at all, and that made her crazy.

She felt spent. Done. Not enough fight in her to sustain this fight alone, if he wasn't jumping in. "Did it have to be her?" She asked finally.

"I don't know," He answered. "It's complicated."

The cop out answer pissed her off again. "Not really. Just what you do, right? Just_ fucking_. I remember it being fairly simple."

He really didn't know. It was the truest statement he could find that didn't make him want to rip his own skin off and hand it to her.

"Not really. Just what you do, right?" She tilted her head, and he could see she was out for blood. "Just_ fucking_. I remember it being fairly simple."

He knew she was just trying to be cruel, just trying to get a rise out of him, and she did it so badly. So transparently. Veronica had never "just fucked" in her life, with him or anyone else. But it didn't matter that he knew that. It didn't matter that he knew the game, it still played him. It still made him want to throw something.

He didn't. He just sat down and looked up at her. He wasn't getting her back. He didn't deserve it. It didn't matter if she loved him or needed him, and it didn't matter if he wanted to make it right. He couldn't fix this. So, he did the one thing he could do. He gave in, entirely.

"It wasn't even about that. It was just about feeling less. Not feeling you," He answered honestly. As honest as he'd ever been with anyone. More. More honest than he could bear, but that was all he could give her. "Not feeling you against my skin. Not loving you so much. Not needing you. Not wanting what I can't want anymore. I couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't stalk you at parties. I had to do something." It poured out of him slowly, but she didn't interrupt. "I had to make it real. And she was there. And there was no better way. No dirtier way. I know it's fucked up."

"I don't understand," She said, and he believed her.

"It was about you."

He watched as she flinched, disgust spreading across her face again.

The image alone had made her throw up, and now this? She felt like there was something thick and dirty underneath her skin, some disgusting film that only she could see. She flinched. She stepped backwards, as if she'd been slapped.

But then she sat down next to him. It had been about her. It was disturbing, but he'd said it kindly, and that was how it worked its way through her head, cleansing something in a way the retching and the tears hadn't. Suddenly, she saw him. Really, finally understood.

"Okay," she said softly.

It was just one word, but it made him brave. "Okay, what?"

"Okay, I believe you. I understand." The way she said them was sad, and it shouldn't have given him so much hope.

He knew better than to hope for anything – than to believe anything so simple would ever be enough. She had him gutted and laid out in front of her, on display, and she was satisfied. That's all it was. There was nothing to hope for.

"I came here because I realized something," she said softly. "Or I thought I did."

"What?" He asked, and yes, he was hoping. He knew it was wrong, but he couldn't help it.

"It was my fault. All of it," she said, even softer now. "That's what I was going to say."

He could barely breathe. Barely stand to exist.

"It's not true," She said. "It wasn't. Not entirely."

"No."

Veronica knew things weren't that simple. She wanted it to be simple. She wanted everything to be clear, to know – in this crime – who the culprit was, and if she couldn't know the truth, she wanted to make it up, to create a fictional culprit, a patsy of her own that she could sacrifice, kill, destroy, even though it wouldn't fix anything.

But then she looked at him. She heard that simple, "No" that was so filled with everything, flooding towards them. And she knew he was blaming himself.

She could leave him. She could walk out. She wouldn't even have to tell him it was his fault. She wouldn't have to yell or whisper or even look disappointed in him. The fire was already going, the pitchforks already in his own hands, and he didn't need her to do anything. He could be the bad guy. She could win.

But this time, she wanted something more than winning. She looked at him, and there was that feeling in her stomach again – pointless, unexplainable, unreliable. Hope. Somehow, it broke through, coursing through her veins like poison, and for once, she didn't want the antidote.

_finis_


End file.
